Winds howl like spirits lost in time,
waves rise and fall, no reason, no rhyme.
The sky splits wide with jagged light,
a fleeting day within the night.
The sea does not rage, nor does it weep,
it only turns, so dark, so deep.
No foe nor friend, no love nor hate,
it moves as one with boundless fate.
The mast bends low, the sails cry loud,
as rain weaves veils of silver shroud.
The stars retreat, the moon is blind,
all sense of course is left behind.
A single gull, against the gale,
rides the chaos, strong and pale.
It does not fight, it does not flee,
but moves as one with wind and sea.
The hands that grip, the eyes that plead,
no anchor holds, no voice can lead.
Yet deep within, the heart beats still,
a quiet spark, unbent by will.
Then hush—between the clash and roar,
a moment still, a hollowed core.
The storm will pass, the waves will wane,
and calm will come like none remain.
No tempest stays, nor lingers long,
but carves its truth and sings its song.
The ocean turns, the wind moves free—
such is the way, so let it be.
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